


Loose Lips Sink Ships (Can We Leave It Alone?)

by Shatteredsand



Series: Slowly, and Then All at Once [2]
Category: Rookie Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Conversations, Awkward situations, Coming Out, Deckstein, F/M, False Accusations, M/M, Multi, OT3, Percieved Infidelity, Polyamory, Relationship Negotiation, Secret Relationship, everybody finds out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatteredsand/pseuds/Shatteredsand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Discretion thy name is not Gail, Chris, or Dov. </p>
<p>Alternatively titled "Division 15 figures out that Deckstein is a thing that's happening".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oliver Shaw

**Author's Note:**

> Still don't own "Rookie Blue".

No one had ever flaunted their complete disregard for the fact that the men's locker room was for, you know, _men_ quite like Gail Peck. Sam probably came close, always wandering in to the ladys' to "check up on" Andy; like that excuse was fooling anybody ever. Anyways, the point was that Gail Peck being in the men's room is not uncommon. It isn't even a problem, because Oliver looks at her and sees this weird cross between one-of-the-boys and surrogate-daughter--that part _is_ kind of weird and confusing, but Oliver figures it's his own special brand of weird, and thus his problem, not the department's--so he doesn't actually feel weird changing right in front of her; she'd probably make a face and sass him and, actually, it sounds kind of fun.

Only, that's not what's happening because Gail isn't doing what she's normally doing in the men's room--re: chewing out Chris and/or Dov for being morons, and/or hugging them for not being dead; and/or demanding something of them that they will protest against vehemently before the inevitable acquescience.

No, right now, Gail is kissing Dov.

It's not a friendly peck either; Oliver thinks he might see tongue. Which, gross. He never ever needs to see Gail's tongue while its inside someone else's mouth, or _Epstein's_ for that matter. It isn't any of Oliver's business, of course, Gail can absolutely go about kissing whomever she'd like. He just wishes it wasn't _Dov_ , because Chris is her boyfriend--and they're still very much together, if the under the table action during Parade she seems to enjoy watch him squirm through is any indication--and Dov is Chris' best friend, and this is going to pretty much implode the whole unit the moment Chris finds out. Which isn't likely to take long if Gail and Dov keep trying to eat each others' faces in public places where all three of them work.

The most recent crop of rookies has really taken the time to esablish a great bond, and this little tryst is going to destroy it. Gail and Chris will break-up, Chris and Dov will fight, and everyone else is going to be forced to take sides. _He's_ going to be forced to pick sides. He doesn't want to because he kind of loves these stupid rookies like idiot younger siblings.

He doesn't want to be in this position. He can't pretend he isn't.

Today sucks.

"Peck!" Oliver calls, breaking apart the two rookies. "This is the men's locker room." He's trying to convey with his eyes how screwy this whole thing is, and how disappointed he is with her--because this isn't cool; if she wanted to break up with Chris and date Dov, she should have just done it--and how exceptionaly displeased he is to have been forced into the middle; does he tell Chris, the kid deserves to know, does he keep Gail and Dov's secret, they have the right to tell Chris themselves before he goes running his mouth.

"Sir!"

"Oh relax, dork; it's just Oliver."

"Out, Peck. Some of us would like to get home sometime today."

"Yeah, yeah, Ollie. Dov, Chris is trying to puppy-eye his way into pizza again tonight; if you walk through that door with pizza, I will make you sleep in your own room tonight."

"Gail!"

"Oh, please, like he didn't see your tongue and my tongue getting friendly." Gail rolls her eyes, and Oliver's not entirely sure how she's managing to be so blase about this.

"I'm uncomfortable with having our training officer know about this."

"Should have thought of that before you dragged me in here. Now, go. Contain the pizza monster that is our boyfriend; I'll talk to Oliver."

Dov shuffles out, his cheeks flushed and his eyes averted.

"Talk to me about what?"

"About the huge secret I'm going to ask you to keep."

See, this is exactly what Oliver didn't want to happen. He doesn't want to know this so he doesn't have to A) be the guy that tells Chris his girlfriend is messing around with his best friend or B) be the guy who didn't tell Chris he knew his girlfriend was messing around with his best friend. Either way, it's not something he's looking foreward to; he doesn't even know which one he'd end up picking in the end. He doesn't want to play favorites, but, yeah, he does like Peck a bit more than Diaz's boy scout routine. That doesn't mean he should let her stomp all over his country boy heart though, either.

"Chris, Dov, and I are dating. The three of us. At the same time. Togther. It's a thing. It's an us thing."

He was not expecting that. He has no idea what to say to that. Is there a thing he should say to that? Is this a "congratulations" event? Or hugging? Should there be hugging?

"But it's not something we really want broadcasted over the whole department if we can avoid it. So, you know, shut up and tell no one."

"I, uh, right. But do we hug?" He's a little stuck on all the details--is it like a coming out thing? Should he be treating this like a coming out thing?--but the question of hugging seems oddly important. To, you know, show that he's supportive. Because he is.

Gail shrugs and steps into his arms. She only stays there for about five seconds before squirming away and scoffing about "getting feelings all over her". But she's smiling, and he realizes that she's been doing that more recently. And if she's happy with those two, who the hell is he to judge her just because it's not something he really understands? No one's getting hurt; what Peckstein Diaz--Peckstiaz? Piazstein? Deckstein? _Deckstein_.--get up to off the clock really isn't any of his damn business so long as they keep doing their job.

Besides, if this means he doesn't have to play secretkeeper--well, not a secret that's anybody else's business at least--then he's declaring it a small victory and moving on.

* * *

"So..." Dov starts, then trails off. He's not quite sure how to bring it up, really. They'd all decided not to go running their mouths about the new dynamics of their relationship, given the less than traditional aspects of it, and now he and Gail have let someone else in the loop. It's the kind of thing Chris needs to be told, because secrets are pretty much a huge no-bad-wrong-do- _not_ -do thing with the three of them, and Dov is going to tell him.

Just as soon as he figures out how.

"So?"

"Gail says no pizza." Not what he was trying to say, but stilltechnically true.

"Gail _always_ says no pizza. Then we bring it home, and she eats half of one by herself, snarling at us when we get too close."

"Well, to be fair, we only order the one without sauce. But, uh, she seemed serious this time. She threatened to, well actually, she threatened to send me to my room."

Chris bursts out laughing, and Dov does too. "Can she even do that?"

"She's Gail Peck; if she wants me to not be there, she will find a way to make it happen."

"So...Chinese?"

"Chinese."

Dov squirms a little in the should-be comfortable silence that follows.

"Also, you know, side note: Oliver totally knows about us."

To Chris's credit, he does not crash when he jerks to look at Dov with startled eyes. He doesn't even swerve. "What?"

"Well, what had happened was...We were kissing, me and Gail, not me and Oliver--oh, oh, god, _why did I even say that_?--and Oliver walked in, and Gail was all go talk Chris out of pizza while I talk to Oliver, and I kind of did. And, unless, she's decided to tell him that I'm a horrible friend and she's a terrible girlfriend and we're going around behind your back--which, honestly, is not awkwardly honest enough for Gail--she probably told him the truth."

"Oh."

"Are you, I mean are you mad?"

"No." Chris looks confused that Dov even had to ask, but hey. Dov doesn't know, okay. Their discussion on sharing had been brief; for all Dov knows, Chris could have had a serious reason for not wanting to tell anyone. There could have been issues. "It's not anyone's business what we do off the clock, and I didn't want to make it awkward at work if anyone decided to have a problem, but I don't actually care if people know that I love you, that I love Gail. They don't get a say in that, nobody but the three of us do."

Well, that was really sweet. Dov thinks he has that smile on, the one Gail always calls dopey, but he can't get rid of it. Can't think of a reason why he should.

"Love you too."


	2. Jerry Barber and Noelle Williams

It’s their six-month anniversary, and they’ve decided to do something different than hanging out at the house or relaxing at The Penny. Of course, none of them are particularly romantic in the traditional sense, they’re not even really acknowledging that it’s their six month anniversary; trying to have a romantic dinner for three at an expensive restaurant sounds too complicated anyways.

So, they’re at a club. A nice, dark, loud club where no one will care if Chris’s hands wanders over Dov’s body just as often as they wander over Gail’s. Where no one will notice if Dov presses his lips to Chris's when Gail goes to the bathroom, presses his lips to Gail's when Chris gets them drinks. Where no one is going to notice or care if Gail is dancing with Chris and Dov, that her lips brush over their skin indiscriminately, that she’s going to go home with both of them.

* * *

It’s been a really good night. Leo is at his father’s, and neither of them needs to be in at work in the morning, the music is good, and the alcohol is ever better. Which is what she blames for thinking she just saw Chris and Dov gyrating _together_ in the sea of sweat-soaked dancing bodies a second ago. Because Chris is still very much with Gail—he’d brought her flowers at work a few months ago for their six month anniversary, and Gail had rolled her eyes and called him an idiot with a smile—and Traci does not have homeboy down as a cheating asshole.

Except, no, yeah, that’s Chris and Dov. And now they’re kissing.

“Jerry, is that Chris and Dov?” Traci has to practically shout it in his ear to be heard, but he follows her pointing finger with amused eyes. Eyes that go wide for a second, before looking back at her as he nods his head.

Well, Traci is going to have kick their asses now. Don’t get her wrong, Gail is hardly her BFF, but she doesn’t deserve to have her boyfriend screw around on her with her friend—arguably her _only_ friend. Traci had thought Chris and Dov were better than that. Then again, she’d also thought the boys were straight, so clearly she needs to get her character judgment recalibrated.

“I’m gonna kill ‘em.” Traci barks, and Jerry looks pretty resigned—and not all that unwilling—to follow suit. They lose sight of the couple as they try and move through the crowd, but Chris is wearing those tight white pants, and Traci manages to find him again pretty quickly.

He isn’t with Dov when they reach him. Or, rather, he isn’t _just_ with Dov. Gail is there, dancing between the two of them. Gail has one arm wrapped around Dov’s head, pulling his lips to hers while they dance, and the other palming Chris’s neck while he presses kisses to her throat. The boys’ pull their lips from her skin to meet over her shoulder, Gail’s hands still on both of them. Chris’s right hand moves from Gail’s hips to lay over Gail’s hand on Dov’s neck. Traci can’t even see Dov’s hands, and she thinks this might be a good thing.

And, oh, okay, what?

Abort mission. Abort mission. This is some weird shit Traci does not want to be involved with.

Thankfully, the trio doesn’t appear to have noticed their approach, their eyes closed as they dance and kiss all up on each other. Suddenly, Traci cannot wait to get out of this club.

“Let’s just go back to yours.”

Jerry gives a kind of shrug, then a wicked smirk.

* * *

Traci and Gail are riding together today. Of course they are. Because Traci can’t even look at the blonde without seeing her sexy dancing, sandwiched between Chris and Dov, and the universe is designed to make all situations as awkward as possible.

“So…” It’s been hours of silence already, painfully awkward silence slowly strangling her. She’s just going to talk about it. It’d be a lie to say she isn’t curious, but she’s still not sure she really wants to know. That’s assuming, of course, that Gail deigns to speak on the matter at all. She isn’t exactly the open-book type, and, aside from that one stiff dinner invitation forever ago, Gail has never seemed to show much interest in being friends with Traci. Or even in being relatively friendly. And talking about the ménage a trois she might or might not have had last night is very much friend territory. “You do anything fun last night?”

Gail gives her a look, it’s a special brand of Gail-look. One that asks why she’s asking, with an edge of mind your own damn business, and a twist of something like hopefulness. “Hung out with the boys. You?”

“Date night with Jerry. We went to a club. Caprice.”

A flash of recognition, followed quickly by suspicion and something… _mean_. “I hate it when people ask questions they already know the answers to.”

“Seemed like an easier way to start the conversation than ‘So, I saw you getting your dirty dancing on with Dov and Chris’.” Traci shrugs, keeps her tone light. But this doesn’t feel light; it feels dangerous. She isn’t sure why.

“It isn’t any of your business what I do off shift, Nash.”

She’s not wrong; it really isn’t any of Traci’s business. But Gail doesn’t say anything else. None of the spitting venom, hostile barbs, precise insults she’s expecting from the blonde. Her teeth grit together, knuckles white on the steering wheel, shoulders stiff and tense. And Traci realizes that Gail’s waiting for the _attack_ , the condemnation. The judgment Traci has no interest in doling out. She’s been on the receiving end of that treatment—laughing in the halls, narrowed eyes and vicious rumors, disappointed eyes and angry frowns—she’s not lining up to put someone else through that.

“You looked happy.”

Miniscule loosening of Gail’s fists, her jaw, her shoulders. “We are.”

It makes Traci smile. Seeing Gail being, well, human for once. She thinks, maybe, it’s her turn to try and make friends.

* * *

Jerry can’t stop himself from staring at Diaz and Epstein out of the corner of his eye, waiting for the awkwardness. They’re on desk duty together, and he’s not seeing any kind of strange “I have now seen you naked” vibes off them. They’re, well, they’re acting the same way they always have. He wonders if it’s because one of them chickened out last night, decided that, _nope_ , not even Gail Peck was worth seeing his buddy’s junk.

He sees Diaz swipe Epstein’s coffee cup right out of the kid’s hand without so much as looking up from his paperwork and bring it promptly to his own lips before pressing it back into Epstein’s hand again. Epstein doesn’t even blink, taking his own drink before setting it back down.

Well, that was…weird. Jerry’s had several partners in his time at 15. He’s even roomed with a few of them, once or twice in the beginning. He has never, ever, even thought about drinking out of one of their coffees. It’s too...it’s too…

Intimate.

It clicks into place then, and Jerry has to look away from the two not-so-new rookies. It’s not a private moment or anything, they’re right there at the front desk for any and everybody to see, but it suddenly feels like one. Like something he shouldn’t have seen. Way more than the kissing and dancing of last night. That had been lustful, the same as everyone else in that club, a prelude to dim lights and too much to drink and decisions you regret in the morning. This is personal. Domestic, even. Something he wasn’t supposed to have even noticed he'd seen.

Jerry shakes his head a little, clears his thoughts, turns back to his own work. They’re good cops, the lot of them, anything else doesn’t really matter. Not to him. It’s none of his business.

Though, a little mostly affectionate teasing about Diaz still having those pants from the solicitation bust would probably be fine. And hilarious.

* * *

“Traci and Det. Barber saw us at the club last night.”

“Oh.”

“Saw that we were there, or saw _us_?”

“Us. I don’t think it’s going to be a problem.”

“Explains why Jerry was staring at us for, like, the first half of the shift.”

“Ah, yes, and how was desk duty?”

“Well, we both lack your affection for bureaucracy, so I don’t think we enjoyed it as much as you would have.”

“If by ‘affection’ you meant ‘supreme talent’, then, yes, I’m sure you’re right.”

“Yes, your blood is the bluest. Leave us pitiful common-folk to rot.”

“You just want me to finish your paperwork for you.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“No.”

“But you love me. And paperwork.”

“You can’t prove it.”

“Don’t have to.”

“Now, _kiss_.”

“Shut up,”

“Chris.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN2: In case there was some confusion in regards to Chris bringing Gail flowers for their six-month anniversary and then having Chris, Dov, and Gail out weeks later. It’s simple, the three pairings within their trio all have different anniversaries. 
> 
> Chris and Gail have theirs on the day they’d gotten back together the first time, after he’d been stabbed.
> 
> Chris and Dov have theirs on the date they’d had their first Boys’ Night Out, a few days after Gail moved back in with them.
> 
> Gail and Dov have theirs on the day he’d confessed his love to her. 
> 
> And the three of them have theirs on the date that Gail made them all man up and do it.
> 
> Let me know what you think...


	3. Andy McNally

Gail is being…weird. Not normal Gail weird, either. All stand-offish and brisk cutting words. A different kind of weird. A weirder weird. A good, but definitely weirder weird.

It’s throwing Andy off.

Like, she’s pretty sure she heard humming in the locker room before parade yesterday, when they were the only two in there. And Andy wasn’t the hummer. Which meant Gail was humming. Gail “I’m a bitch and it works for me and if you say different I might just cut you or at least bury your hopes and dreams beneath so much paperwork and red tape they might as well not exist at all” Peck had been _humming_.

Andy’s pretty sure she’s seen her holding hands with Dov a couple of times, too, fingers laced together as he hauled her to the break-room or over to Chris’s truck after shift. In fact, Andy’s pretty sure she’s seen Gail holding Dov’s hand nearly has often has she’s seen her holding Chris’s. You know, the guy Gail’s actually dating.

Gail doesn’t hold hands. That’s, that’s not a thing she does. Or, at least, it’s not a thing she used to do at 15 or The Penny. Andy’s never really seen her outside of work or the bar immediately following work. She doesn’t seem like the type, though. But, then, she hadn’t been the type to hum before either. But, apparently, she is because she has been, and it’s _weird_.

Oliver keeps looking at her with this combination of amused and affectionate, which isn’t completely unheard of for Oliver—he’s got a fatherly streak a mile wide and not all that great at hiding it—but it’s like all the time these days. And she’s caught him giving Dov the shovel talk a few weeks ago, which, what? If Dov has a serious girlfriend he hasn’t told anybody else—Andy thinks he’s back to a string of one-night stands and relationships that don’t last longer than a few weeks—and even if he does why would _Oliver_ be the one telling him to watch his step?

And right now, Gail and Traci are sitting together at a table, huddled close together and talking in low voices. Like they’re friends now. Gail doesn’t _have_ friends. The closest she comes is Chris—whom she’s dating—and Dov—whom she lives and exchanges snark with. She watches the two of them for a few more moments, waiting for her own drink to be served, and then heads over herself. If Gail’s trying to be friendlier, well, Andy can’t really think of a reason not to be friends with the prickly blonde.

Only, all conversation halts abruptly the moment Andy approaches the table, Gail cutting off mid-sentence, mid-word.

Awkward.

“You need something, McNally?”

“Just some company.” She pastes a smile to her face and tries not to let Gail’s stand-offish behavior scare her away.

“Gail, be nice.” Traci scolds, and Andy can only stare in disbelief as Gail crosses her arms and grumbles but makes no further comment, eyebrow raised and challenging. Huh. So, yeah, Gail and Traci are friends, but it doesn’t look like Gail’s looking to expand her social circle any.

“Hey, you were the one who wanted to talk about _feelings_.” The last words is drawn out and exaggerated, and Andy realizes that Gail is a little bit drunk. “I just wanted to kill some time until Boys’ Night Out was over.”

“And now you can kill time with me _and_ Andy. Won’t that be fun?”

“I hate you both.” Gail frowns, downing the rest of her glass with a sharp swallow.

“You’re a terrible liar.” Traci smiles. “Absolutely everybody is gonna have your dirty little secret ferreted out in, like, two months. Tops.”

“Took you _seven_ , so…”

“Really? Seven months? How the hell did I miss it?”

Andy has no idea what’s going on, and she’s the sober one in this equation. She doesn’t know what she’s missing, but it probably has something to do with Gail’s weird weirdness thing.

“You’re stupid. Everyone is stupid, ‘cept Ollie. He figured it out first. Well, he walked in on it.”

“Oh. My. _God_. Please tell me that entire story, in excruciating detail. Feel free to use visual aids.”

“Outta the gutter, Nash.”

“There are only so many ways to interpret ‘walked in on it’. In fact, there’s really just the one.”

“Shut up.” Was, no. Was Gail _blushing_?

Traci full on cackles at that, and Andy still doesn’t know what’s going, but it looks like whatever it is is embarrassing the hell out of Gail. “What were you even doing? I mean, it had to have been at work, right? Did you just—right there?”

“Dov had a bad shift, okay?”

“And, what, you wanted to kiss it better?”

Oh.

 _Oh_. Andy doesn’t think she wants to know this. Gail is glaring murder at Traci, but she’s not _denying_ it.

“You hooked up with _Dov_?” Andy tries to keep the judgment out of her voice, because she tries not to do that—judge people—but she doesn’t think she does such a good job. She’s been on the other end of that, been the person waiting at home while her lover is out with someone else, and it sucks, okay? It really, really fucking sucks. And, Christ, Dov is Chris’s best friend. This is going to _destroy_ him.

“Shit.” Traci swears, swiveling to look at her with wide-eyes. “It’s not what it sounds like.”

“Yes, it is.” Gail says, unrepentant. “Fuck it, we can’t keep this secret for shit. Oliver figured it out because he caught me and Dov making out in the locker room.” Then the blonde laughs, and Andy can’t figure out what’s so funny, unless Gail really is the stony, cold-hearted bitch they’d all always thought she was and she’s getting a kick out of ruining Chris and probably Dov too. “Everyone who finds out always thinks there’s some serious cheating going on.”

“Isn’t there?”

“Nope.” Gail pops the p, and laughs again.

“When I first saw it, I thought there was cheating too.” Traci says, taking pity on what Andy is sure is her expression of endless confusion. “Between Dov and _Chris_.”

“Uh…” Andy’s still missing something, but Gail’s still laughing too hard to clue her in. She looks at Traci for further help.

The other woman shrugs, “They’re poly, Andy. Gail and Chris and Dov together. The three of them.”

“Oh…” Andy isn’t really sure what that means or how she feels about it, other than relieved that Gail isn’t about to chew up and spit out Chris’s heart, or Dov’s for that matter. “kay…”

“She doesn’t get it.” Gail chuckles. “ _Threesomes_ , McNally. Threesomes _all the time_.”

Oh. Well. Uh. “Good for you?”

“It really is.” Gail confirms. “And now I’m going to go home, because I left the idiots alone, and they’ve probably already started without me.”

“Yeah.” Andy says to Gail’s back. “You go…do that.”

All in all, she’s not so sure she’s happier having figured out Gail’s weirdness. Mostly because it’s still a little confusing in her head.

* * *

“We are the worst secret-keepers in the history of _ever_.” Dov groans, lathering in Gail’s shampoo with nimble fingers.

“We really are.” Chris agrees, his hands soaping up Dov’s back.

“We should just send out a fucking email blast.” Gail sighs, tilting her head under Dov’s ministrations and absently running her sudsy hands over his chest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous shower scene is gratuitous.
> 
> Let me know what you think.


	4. Sam Swarek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand apologies for the delay. My computer was being problematic. Hopefully, the issue has been resolved.

Sam doesn’t like people in his business, doesn’t like to stick his nose in other peoples’. Which is why he keeps trying to tell Andy to stop gossiping with him; he’s her boyfriend and he loves her, but, seriously, he doesn’t want to know about the latest rumor flying around the bullpen.

She keeps telling him anyways, so when she doesn’t mention anything even potentially gossip-y for three days, this look on her face like she wants to tell him but is trying really hard not to, he assumes she’s finally realized that he just doesn’t want to hear it.

Of course, he can see that it’s driving her up the wall not to tell him. He’s a good boyfriend, he is, he can settle in and deal with a little gossip if it’ll make her feel better.

"Andy, what aren’t you saying that you really want to be?"

Andy looks conflicted. "I can’t." She finally breathes out. "It’s supposed to be a secret, and I’m not even supposed to know really but Gail was drunk, and you know that’s pretty much the only way to get her to say something that isn’t a biting insult, and she told me. But she didn’t mean to, and I’m not supposed to know, and even if I were I don’t think I’d be allowed to tell you."

"Woah, woah, woah. Breathe."

"Sorry. I’m just not that great with secrets."

"Look, if it’s bugging you—and it is—you can tell me. Nobody has to know I know."

"I…"

"Andy." It’s a little more exasperated than he’d meant it to be, but, seriously, she makes things so hard sometimes. "Tell. Me."

"Gail is in this weird three-way relationship thing with Chris _and_ Dov." The words spew out at a pace just barely in the realm of human comprehension.

"Do we care?" Sam, personally, doesn’t. He knows Andy doesn’t have a problem with the LGBT community in general; he also knows that general opinions can go flying out the window pretty fast when it starts being personal. It’s all fine until it’s somebody you know, and then you realize that, no, not actually okay with this. He’s seen it happen.

"Not really. It’s just…weird." Andy frowns at herself. "Isn’t it? Is it weird that I think it’s weird?"

"It’s a _little_ weird that you’re obsessing."

"It’s not the whole multiple partners thing; that’s whatever. It’s just Gail. She’s been so freaking weird at work, and now I know why, and it’s _still_ weird."

"Isn’t Gail always kinda weird?" He doesn’t work much with Gail. They ride together every now and then, and he’s, obviously, seen her around the bullpen and at The Penny after shift. But they’re not friends; he doesn’t know her. He knows her name—everyone in law enforcement knows who the Pecks are—but he’s not stupid enough to think knowing Elaine, Bill, and Steve means anything about knowing Gail.

"It’s a different weird." Andy asserts. "A weirder weird."

"Uh-huh." Sam doesn’t get it. Maybe it’s a chick thing…

"I don’t know…"

"Is her newfound weirder weirdness getting in the way of the job?" This is, in the end, the only thing he can think of that would be twigging Andy out. It’s the most important thing in her world, even moreso than him. It stings his pride a little to admit that, even to himself, but it’s true, and he’s a big boy; he can take it.

"No."

"Then, com’mon, McNally. Does it matter?"

"I guess not. Still weird though."

"We’re all fucking weird, Andy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think...


End file.
